


I'd Give You Everything I've Got for a Little Peace of Mind

by thought



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CT says, "Maybe we'll just die down there."<br/>Tex thinks that'd be nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Give You Everything I've Got for a Little Peace of Mind

Wyoming says, "With all due respect, director, we've not had any downtime in the past week. It's hardly--"

Florida and CT are already bored with the conversation and playing tic-tac-toe in the dust on the back of Maine's armour. Tex is staring straight ahead. Tex wants, very badly, to be drunk. Maine may or may not be sleeping standing up, it's impossible to tell through his helmet.

"The war does not stop so you can take a vacation," The Director sneers. Tex thinks maybe if he turned that glare on the Covies the war would do just that. She's not getting involved. She figures she and Maine have it easiest-- Director treats them both like expensive but ultimately expendable hardware anyway, and you don't have to be able to see straight to keep on punching. Wyoming's had five cups of tea just since the Pelican landed back on the ship and his hands are shaking noticeably. For him, it's an actual problem. She's pretty sure CT and Florida are hyped up on enough stims that 'sleep when you're dead' has taken on alarming likelihood. It also means she's about a hundred different kinds of uncomfortable having them behind her. Nobody's safe when they're twitchy, and those two less than anyone.

Wyoming rubs his eyes roughly. She's pretty sure even his moustache is drooping in exhaustion. Tex has not slept in-- Nobody's slept. She thinks maybe Maine and Wyoming got a couple hours on the most recent flight back. It's been days. Literal stretches of forty-eight hours end-to-end where they've been on mission with barely the time to restock their ammo and receive new orders. CT's usual edged comments turned to outright treasonous by day four, but not even Florida has called her on it.

"Get moving," The Director says. Tex thinks maybe she missed part of the conversation.

They pass York and North in the hall. North’s' got his head flung back, laughing at something. York is curled in around his coffee cup, but there's a tired little smile playing at contentment around his mouth. Maine almost walks directly into a wall and it's only the jerky, quick movement of Florida's arm that prevents it. Florida's eyes are flat and cold and his hands are not shaking, even though Tex hasn't seen him sleep once in the past almost-week. The Director is making her and Maine into equipment. She wonders who did it to Florida. CT says, "Maybe we'll just die down there." Tex thinks that'd be nice.

The mission itself is basic enough. Wyoming hangs back, CT and Florida disappear as soon as they hit dirt and Tex and Maine shoulder their rifles and smash straight through the wall of the compound and any unfortunate soldiers who happen to be in their way. She moves automatically: target identified, locked, fire, target neutralized. Lather, rinse, repeat over and over until she needs to duck behind an overturned vehicle to reload. A couple Kig-Yar pop up behind her before she's ready. Maine drops a wall on them. There's a sort of disconcerting 'splat' noise.

"Thanks," she says. Maine remains silent. She can respect that.

They meet Florida in the upstairs server room. He's down on the floor, surrounded by alien corpses and dripping in blood and ichor. He's also making soft cooing noises to the Engineer huddled in the corner, glowing franticly pulsing pastels.

"Hey there, little buddy," he murmurs. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Jesus, Florida," Tex snaps. "It's got a collar on. Shoot it before it takes out the entire computer core."

Florida shakes his head, slowly. "Nah. Don't worry, Agent Tex. This little guy's not gonna hurt anybody. Besides, there's no one around to activate the explosives any more." He shrugs his shoulders and something goopy and steaming slides off his armour to the floor with a wet plop.

"Oh you're kidding."

The Engineer has too many fucking arms, if they can even be called that. Tentacles. Fucking weird. Figures Florida's making friends with the thing. Tex looks around for CT. Maine touches her shoulder lightly, and she follows his pointing hand. CT's tucked up between two servers, stretched out on her stomach and fiddling with a nest of wires. One of her feet is bouncing absently, thudding against the dull pre-fab wall rhythmically. Maine waves to her. She waves back cheerfully.

Florida says, "Oh if circumstances were different I would love the chance to let you get your tentacles *all* over my armour."

Tex opens text com to Wyoming. 'I'm going to die here. Surrounded by crazy people.'

'What did you expect, joining the military?'

Connie slithers down the side of the server banks, landing with an echoing clang. "I've got the data. Also we're a tiny bit on fire. It's fine."

The wall on the far side of the room starts folding inwards, molten steal and burning plastic bubbling and smoking angrily. Tex swears. Maine flips CT off even as he's heading for the nearest exit.

Florida shakes his head down at the Engineer, and picks up his weapon. Tex is fully expecting him to shoot the thing in its weird elongated head, but he just pats it gently and bounces up and after Maine.

"How much coffee have you had?" Tex asks, a little uneasy as the four of them leap down the stairwell and out into the few remaining aliens.

"Not a drop," Florida chirps. "I'm just so happy to be here with all of you fighting the good fight."

"He's like, twenty seconds and a minor head wound away from passing out," CT says.

"Kill faster," Tex says resignedly.

Back on board the MoI Wyoming shoos them all toward the locker room as soon as their feet hit deck plating.

"Shouldn't we check in with The Director?" Tex asks. CT elbows her hard, armour clinking together.

"No," says Wyoming. "Just go, I'll handle the bloody fallout."

"Taking one for the team, that's the kind of attitude we like to see around here," Florida hums. He is still conscious, but his responses sound like they're being played back from a collection of pre-recorded soundbites. Tex trails along down the corridor, but hesitates at the door to the locker-room. CT turns.

"Don't you want to get out of your armour?" she asks. The question feels weighted with a deeper meaning that Tex can't grasp and it drags intrusive fingertips across exhaustedly sensitive nerves.

"I don't usually--" she frowns inside her helmet.

"Where do you usually go after a mission?" CT asks, still casual, still setting off alarm bells somewhere deep in Tex's subconscious.

"I--"

"Christ, could you lay the bricks of your inevitable downfall when we're not all knackered?" Wyoming snaps tiredly. "Go get changed, both of you, before The Director appears out of nowhere and decides we don't look near-dead enough for his tastes."

Tex sort of feels bad for him. Of all of them, exhaustion runs the highest risk of impacting his skills in the field. And, yet again, The Director had ignored Tex's leaderboard position and put someone else in charge of the mission while still privately giving her carte-blanche to insure the mission was completed. Wyoming, at least, had the courtesy to respect her and her skills in addition to actually providing clear and practical orders. Tex does not think a single uncharitable thought about Carolina. She's very proud.

Out of armour they all make it about as far as the rec-room before the oncoming collapse. The Director has yet to call for a debrief, so when Wyoming collapses down in the corner of the sofa and CT flops onto her stomach on the carpet, Tex figures nobody's about to go seeking him out. Florida slides down to the floor with his back against Wyoming's shins, which makes CT roll over grumpily and curl into a ball under the coffee table. Tex stares. Maine takes an armchair and seems to fall asleep instantly.

"Sit down, Allison," Wyoming says without opening his eyes. "We don't bite."

"Unless you're not supposed to spend time with us?" CT mumbles, not lifting her face from where it's pillowed on her arms. She’s clutching a knife in one hand like a little kid clutches a blanket.

Tex slumps down on the other end of the sofa, feeling a little out of place. She tucks her chin against her shoulder and forces her eyes closed. Behind her eyelids that last message on text coms scrolls past in an endless loop.

'What did you expect, joining the military?'

She thinks it shouldn't be such a difficult question to answer.

When someone shakes her shoulder it's been two hours, seventeen minutes and fifty-six seconds since she sat down. She snaps back to full alertness with the blink of her eyes. She's somehow tipped over sideways on the sofa so her face is squashed up against the soft fabric of Wyoming’s pant leg and her chin is digging into the itchy fabric of the sofa. Looking to the left, she watches an amused Wash carefully guiding a barely awake Maine and his armful of CT out the door. Florida is nowhere to be seen. Wyoming is snoring.

York smiles down at her sympathetically. "Hey. Looks like you guys had a rough few days."

"Could say that," she agrees. She knows she should sit up, but the muted quiet of the room seems oddly comforting, like being caught beneath the quilt of reality with a flashlight early on a winter morning.

"The twins are on their way with a camera to catch this truly impressive example of snoring," he says. "I figured you wouldn't wanna be around when they got here."

She nods. "Thanks, York."

"Sure." He offers a hand to help her up, which she ignores. "Just helping out a teammate.”  
It sounds good, the way he says it. Like she’s part of something bigger than herself. She thinks she has not been part of something for a very long time.


End file.
